


safe

by Ashling



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Kinda, Slice of Life, They're like an old married couple bickering but I don't think they're married, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Just another night in with Luca.





	safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewestmeadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/gifts).



You lean against the door, gun in hand, and raise your eyebrows. "Don't you think Mrs. Bianchi is going to be angry that you're cooking in her apartment?"

"Flat."

"You're not even English, Luca, don't correct my vocabulary."

He makes a dismissive gesture from the stove, then brings the wooden spoon up to his lips to taste. It's not a bad sight, with his hat off and coat off and sleeves half-rolled up. "It needs oregano."

"Then go investigate the spice rack."

He gives you a pleading look. "Can't you? You have a better eye for finding lost things than I do."

"Flattery won't get you everywhere, Luca."

"You found me."

"Jesus." The man has a way of saying things quietly and looking right at you with those dark eyes. You're perfectly aware he likes to do this at the slightest provocation, even when he really doesn't need to, but it's still a real weakness of yours.

Just then, the telephone rings, and as he talks, you go over to the spice rack, find the oregano within seconds, and toss it to him. He catches it one-handed and adds some small quantity (a pinch? a smidgen? half a teaspoon? you always just eye ingredients and blunder through when it's your turn in the kitchen). Then he pauses, listening to whoever's talking on the other end. Jar still in his hand.

"Matteo?" you say, as soon as he hangs up.

"A lookout saw three men heading into this building, all blond. One of them was extraordinarily tall."

"I can't believe Aubrey only brought two men with him. That's almost insulting."

You reach over and turn off the stove, giving both sauce and pasta one last good stir, as Luca retrieves his own gun from the kitchen countertop.

"I thought this was supposed to be a safe house," you say. "Safe apartment. Safe flat. Whatever."

He shoots you a quick look as he finds a position behind the icebox and you find a position crouching behind the sofa. "You're safe with me," he says. Then he turns his attention back to the door, aiming with purpose. You choose not to comment on the dichotomy between his promise and his actions. It's kind of funny, might as well let it live on. (And you'd rather not be isolated from the business in future if he gets possessed by a fit of worry.)

"I know," you say, "I'm just pissed we'll be missing dinner."

"If we finish it quickly, Matteo can do cleanup and we can still have dinner."

"I haven't had good puttanesca in two months, Luca. Be careful what you promise me when I'm hungry."

He looks over and smiles. "I like you best when you're hungry."

The front door busts open and the first man's head bursts into red at the same time as his chest. He falls backwards, into the man behind him, and then you shoot that man too. The third turns and makes a run for it, but Luca follows him down the hallway and you figure he's got it handled. Panting, you look down at the two bodies at the entryway of the apartment.

Then you put the safety on your gun and go over to turn the stove back on.

Five minutes later, Luca's back, panting himself, but gun tucked away in his waistband, so you know it's over.

"You look bloody," you say.

"None of the blood is mine."

"Good."

He tries to close the door, but can't because of a stray body. So he pushes it gently with his foot, and then closes the door and locks it again, as if the lock can do anything.

You turn back to the stove. "One of these days you'll learn not to go for headshots first."

"They're definitive. Nobody can get shot in the head and remain in a fight."

"They're risky. You've got a larger chance of missing than if you aim for their chest."

You can hear the clack of his gun being set down on the kitchen table, and then he's walking towards you. "You know how many men I've seen get shot somewhere in the chest that are still walking around?" 

"Not so many. And some damage is better than none."

"What did I do to deserve someone so strong-minded?"

"Not enough, but I'm still here."

"Not enough?" He's quite close behind you now. His hands find your waist.

You stifle a smile. He gets like this sometimes after a fight, and you've no objection.

"You can work on it later," you say.

He noses along your neck. "Why don't we work on it now?"

"Because dinner's almost ready, and I have my priorities in order." But you turn just enough to tilt his chin up with the wooden handle of the spoon, lean in, and kiss him.

The pasta is delicious, as is dessert.


End file.
